


soft/shaking

by Anonymous



Series: not that kind of arrangement [5]
Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Comfort, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Nightmares, Pining, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-07 18:36:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18878908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: There’s the vague shape of a person opening the door to Zolf’s room. After a moment of silence, Hamid takes another step inside and closes the door behind him.





	soft/shaking

**Author's Note:**

> This one is, as you probably saw, not explicit. I can't just write porn, I have to turn it into a ten-part series with mutual pining, apparently. Feel free to skip this one. Explicit works should resume the week after next.

There’s the vague shape of a person opening the door to Zolf’s room. “Zolf?” asks Hamid, in the smallest voice Zolf has ever heard. Zolf pushes himself up on an elbow, rubs some sleep out of his eyes. Hamid takes a step into his room, and the light filtering through the cracked-open door lessens.

Zolf mumbles, “Hamid? What’s happening?” Hamid shifts awkwardly from one foot to the other. “You alright?” Zolf asks, and Hamid won’t meet his eyes.

(Hamid makes eye contact when he’s trying to prove a point. When he’s trying to win someone over or win an argument, he locks eyes with the other person until they back down, until they give in to his words. But when he’s shy, or embarrassed, or when he’s rambling about something or other, Hamid’s eyes flicker between the faces of whoever he’s talking to and his own hands and the floor. Eye contact is a tool that Hamid uses, but it isn’t one he seems to be particularly fond of.)

After a moment of silence, Hamid takes another step into the room and closes the door behind him. It takes a second for Zolf’s eyes to adjust to the lack of light. He can’t tell, everything’s in black and white, but he’s relatively sure that Hamid’s blushing. His cheeks are a darker shade of grey than the rest of his face. “I couldn’t sleep,” Hamid says quietly.

(Hamid has nightmares. This is an objective fact of life. Once, when they’d fallen asleep in the same bed, Zolf had been jolted awake by Hamid accidentally scratching him. Once, Hamid clung so tightly to his arm that it went numb. Hamid has nightmares, and he doesn’t like to talk about them. This is an objective fact of life.)

Zolf asks, “Can I help?” and Hamid takes yet another tiny step toward him. Zolf’s eyes are still tired; Hamid is more _blur_ than he is _halfling,_ but there’s something about the embarrassed back-and-forth swaying that is so endearing.

(Zolf is too tired to shove that thought away, so it stays in the forefront of his mind. There’s a mental chest filled to the brim with thoughts just like it. It’s locked tight until he lays down in bed and then suddenly, every little thing he’s noticed comes out into his head again. Stupid things, like Hamid’s pleased smile or the confident way his hands move during a spell or the questions he asks or this or that or the other.)

Hamid opens and closes his mouth several times, trying to find the right words. Eventually, he settles on, “Do you remember after Kew?” at a volume so low Zolf can only barely make it out. Hamid’s more _blur_ than he is _halfling,_ but his soft edges seem so brittle and so breakable. “I was just… I wondered if you could..?”

(After Kew, Hamid curled up into a corner and shivered in Zolf’s arms. After Kew, Hamid wasn’t _himself._ After Kew, Hamid was quiet and shaking and a broken-down mess. After Kew, Zolf hadn’t had any idea how to help.)

Zolf doesn’t have any idea how to help. But he’s still tired, and his brain is muddled, and he deadpans, “Not if you’re halfway across the room,” because that’s the first thing that comes to his head in the right order. Hamid lowers his eyes dejectedly to the floor, and he turns to leave. Which wasn’t the intended outcome. Not that there _was_ an intended outcome; Zolf just doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut. Zolf wants to help, but he doesn’t want to make known something that isn’t wry or bitter or sharp-edged. 

(He doesn’t want to think about Hamid, alone in his hidden room under L’arc de Ordinateur, shaking noiselessly as he tries to sleep.) 

Zolf sits up further and grumbles, “Hamid, I’m not telling you to leave, I’m saying that I _can’t do that_ unless you’re closer.” 

Hamid turns back and blinks up at him. He whispers, “You really don’t mind?” He looks like he’s expecting an unnecessarily cruel rejection. He looks like this was just a flight of fancy that he didn’t think would ever find purchase in reality. He sounds suspicious and apologetic, and there’s a guard up around each of his words.

(Zolf is in love with Hamid. This is an objective fact of life. Once, Hamid kissed him and Zolf nearly swallowed his own tongue. Once, Zolf made sure Hamid was alright, healing him before worrying about anything else. Zolf is in love with Hamid, and he’ll never admit it out loud. This is an objective fact of life.)

“It’s fine,” Zolf snaps, a guard up around each of his words so Hamid can’t hear the emotions underneath them. “Now either come here or get out; I can’t sleep with you lurking in the door.” 

Hamid chooses the first option, padding silently over to the bed and getting in next to Zolf. He doesn’t say anything as he buries his face in Zolf’s shoulder, doesn’t make any noise at all when he clutches at Zolf’s back like he’s not ever going to let go. Zolf doesn’t say anything either. He doesn’t know what he should say, or whether he should say anything at all. So he errs on the side of caution and keeps his mouth shut.

(It’s easy to forget that Hamid isn’t larger than life. He fills up space with his personality, with his charm and his smile and his laughter. He feels small, now. Compressed into a tangle of light and heat and nerves in Zolf’s arms. He’s shaking.)

Zolf can’t go to sleep; he’s too intent on the fragile disaster in his arms that’s threatening to fall apart at any minute. Zolf can’t go to sleep; Hamid might get up and say that _he’s feeling better, thanks,_ and walk right back out the door.

(Zolf can’t go to sleep; Hamid is warm and soft against him, and Zolf is going to commit the feeling to memory.)

“...thank you.”

It actually takes him a second to realise Hamid’s spoken. Hamid’s loosened his grip some, and he’s pressed his face into Zolf’s chest. He’s still shivering, but not as much. Zolf would shrug, but that wouldn’t be very comfortable for either of them, so he restrains himself. He mutters back, “Yeah. I was kinda cold, anyway, and you’re like a living furnace, so.” Hamid starts shaking again, and Zolf is going to ask what it was that he said when he realises that Hamid is just trying to stifle his laughter.

“‘Living furnace’? Really?” Hamid asks. Zolf groans. He’s too tired to deal with being made fun of, so he readjusts himself and shuts his eyes. Hamid tucks himself in tighter and makes a contented humming noise. Zolf tenses. 

(Hamid is warm and soft against him and Hamid sounds so _pleased_ about that.)

Hamid says, “Oh,” and shifts closer. ‘Closer’ is not a good direction for Hamid to go. He’s shaking. “Do you want me—?”

“No, you’re fine. I’m tired, so—”

“Oh,” Hamid repeats, and then he starts drawing back, “sorry. I can go if you want to sleep—”

“If you go, I’ll be too worried to sleep.”

(It’s. A moment of weakness, or something like that. A momentary lapse in judgement. Zolf is tired, and his head isn’t quite right, and he’s under a great deal of stress. He doesn’t mean– he _does_ mean it. He didn’t mean for it to come out as desperate as it did. He shouldn’t have said it. That’s not what this is. Zolf isn’t stupid; he knows that whatever it is he and Hamid are doing, it’s not something like that.)

Hamid doesn’t say anything. “I mean–” Zolf starts, but Hamid is already getting off of him. “Not that I–” And that’s fine, that’s to be expected, but it doesn’t stop his arms from feeling empty or his chest from turning concave. “It’s just–” Hamid disentangles himself, and then he puts his palm to Zolf’s cheek and kisses him and that’s. Unexpected. To say the least.

When Hamid draws back, Zolf can see him blushing and feel his face practically radiating heat. “I, um.” He stammers a bit before smiling awkwardly, before resting his head against Zolf’s chest. “I’ll stay. So you can sleep.” Except there’s something to his voice that’s so soft, so gentle, so kind, and it throws Zolf for a loop. And then Hamid mumbles, “I’ll stay as long as you want me to.”

(And that’s. A moment of too-strong emotion, or something like that. A momentary lapse in judgement. Hamid is tired, and he’s probably coming down from a panic attack, and he’s under a great deal of stress. He doesn’t mean it. He can’t possibly mean it. It’s too much. That’s not what this is. Zolf isn’t stupid; he knows that whatever it is he and Hamid are doing, it’s not something like that.)

Zolf isn’t stupid, he knows how these things go, but he seems to have forgotten every word of English he’s ever learned except _stay_ and _please_ and _always._ So he errs on the side of caution and keeps his mouth shut. He lets his eyes drag themselves shut. Hamid is warm and soft against him, and eventually, he stops shaking.


End file.
